


The Dust Has Only Just Begun to Form

by asexualjuliet



Category: The OC (TV)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, No thoughts head empty only Ryan & Summer friendship, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 03, Seth is barely here, Trauma, Vomiting, and i WOULD beat his ass, he says like three things and two of them are “ryannnnn” because he’s a whiny bitch, he’s got trauma your honor, i love him but also i would fight him no hesitation, let ryan cry ok!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualjuliet/pseuds/asexualjuliet
Summary: Ryan isfine.Totally, absolutely, one hundred percentfine.Or, Ryan isnotfine.He has a panic attack and learns that it’s okay not to be okay.
Relationships: Minor Seth Cohen/Summer Roberts, Referenced Ryan Atwood/Marissa Cooper, Ryan Atwood & Seth Cohen, Ryan Atwood & Summer Roberts
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	The Dust Has Only Just Begun to Form

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all... the OC is a good show actually. 
> 
> I’m halfway through season four and they’ve acknowledged how the accident fucked Ryan up, like, a _little,_ but i’m terrified they’re gonna pull what Veronica Mars pulled with Dick Casablancas in season three and acknowledge the fact that he’s not okay, like, three times total.
> 
> Also I can’t come up with street names on my own so... if y’all can guess what the Back Harlow Road is from, you have my everlasting love and affection.
> 
> Y’all know what the title’s from... Hide and Seek has been stuck in my head for at least a week, because hot take: it’s a good song actually.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Ryan is _fine._

Totally, absolutely, one hundred percent _fine._

He sees the way they look at him, when they think he’s not looking. Sandy with sympathy, Kirsten with concern. Seth…

Well, Seth is Seth. And for once, Ryan is happy to listen to him babble on about something Summer said or the newest installment in some Japanese movie franchise or that smartass kid at the comic book store who he can’t fucking stand. It’s a good distraction. 

(Not that Ryan needs a distraction. Because he’s _fine)._

But Seth calls him up one night and asks for a ride home, because “Oh my God, I’m _so_ drunk, Ryan, and Summer didn’t bring a car, so—”

“Cohen!” Ryan makes out, over a huge amount of background noise. 

“Give the phone to Summer,” Ryan says, because it’s two am, and he doesn’t have the brainpower necessary to deal with drunk Seth right now. 

“I’m assuming you’re not quite as drunk as Seth,” Ryan says, when it becomes clear that the phone is now in Summer’s possession

“Wish I was,” she says, earning a small smile from Ryan. “Cohen took us to see this lame-ass emo band at the Bait Shop. I’m about to lose my _mind,_ Atwood, you _gotta_ come pick us up.”

Ryan sighs. “I’ll be there in ten,” he says. 

-

Even before Ryan opens the car door, he can hear Summer’s voice. 

“Oh my _God,_ Cohen! Ew!” She yells, and Ryan follows the sound of her voice over to the pier. 

“Oh, _ewww!_ What the _fuck?_ Cohen, these are _suede!”_

“Summer?” Ryan says, not particularly anxious to put himself in the middle of this fight, but wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. “You guys okay?”

Summer turns her stare off of Seth, who’s sitting on a bench a short way away from her, and onto Ryan as he walks closer. 

“Your lightweight of a brother _puked_ on my _shoes!”_ she says, a bit hysterically. 

“‘M sorry,” Seth mumbles. Ryan sighs, wincing as he shifts his gaze to Summer’s bare feet and the expensive-looking, vomit-covered suede boots discarded over by the bench. 

“Get up,” he says, making his way over to Seth, who groans but accepts Ryan’s hand, leaning on his shoulder as his brother leads him to the car. 

“You owe me big-time,” Ryan murmurs as he deposits Seth into the front seat. “And if you puke in the car, you’re _so_ dead, man.”

 _“Ryannnn,”_ Seth whines, but Ryan ignores him, circling around to the back of the car and pulling out a couple of plastic grocery bags from the trunk. 

“For your shoes,” he tells Summer, holding one out as he makes his way back to the pier. 

“My Prince Charming,” she says, dropping her shoes into the bag. Ryan turns to start walking back to the car, but after getting a few steps, he realizes Summer hasn’t moved an inch. 

“Summer,” he says. 

“Atwood,” she parrots back in the same tone. 

There’s a pause. Ryan looks down once more at Summer’s bare feet. 

“You’re gonna ask me to carry you, aren’t you?” Ryan asks. Summer flashes him an exaggerated smile. 

“Yes, _please,”_ she says, drawing out the last word. Ryan rolls his eyes and scoops her up, bridal style.

(His brain flashes back in time, and for a second he’s convinced there’s a different girl in his arms).

(Just for a second, though).

(Ryan’s _fine)._

“Sorry for calling you so late,” Summer says, as he walks back toward the car.

Ryan shrugs as well as he can with Summer’s arms around his neck. “It’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

It’s there for barely half a second, but Ryan can swear he sees a look of concern flit across Summer’s face. 

(He doesn’t deserve it. Really, he’s fine).

“Come on, the backseat?” Summer complains when Ryan sets her down in the car. 

“I _carried_ you here—”

“Like a perfect gentleman,” Summer cuts in. Ryan rolls his eyes. 

“I _carried_ you here,” he repeats, “and Seth _will_ puke all over Kirsten’s car if he doesn’t sit in the front.”

 _“Ryannnn,”_ Seth whines again. 

Ryan ignores him, circling around to the driver’s-side door and sliding into the seat.

“We ready?” he asks. He receives no answer. 

Ryan looks around the car. Summer is currently as far away from Seth and the bag containing her shoes as she can get. Seth himself is still looking a little green, eyes closed as he leans his head against the car window. 

Ryan sighs, rolling down the window and handing Seth another plastic grocery bag. 

“If you’re gonna hurl again, I’ll pull over. But if I don’t stop the car fast enough, use the bag. If you throw up in here, you owe me so bad,” he says. 

Seth just nods, not daring to open his eyes. Ryan starts the car and they start to drive back home. 

-

The thing is, Ryan has to take a different route home if he wants to drop Summer off. 

He doesn’t think anything of it. This is the way he always drives when he’s driving Summer home. Nothing about this should be any different from any over time he’s driven her home. 

The night is calm. Seth hasn’t puked again; Summer’s been fairly quiet. 

And then—

Ryan catches one glimpse of the yellow truck rollover sign on the Back Harlow Road and before he knows what he’s doing, he slams on the brakes harder than he can remember ever doing before. 

_(Oh my God, pull over!_ he hears her voice say. A voice like honey, like lavender, like everything sweet. He can almost fucking _taste_ her).

“Jesus!” he hears Summer shout from the backseat and the car lurches to a stop. Seth heaves into his plastic bag. Ryan’s heart is pounding so fucking fast he thinks he might be dying. 

(And wouldn’t that be ironic? To die where she died? Where she died and he escaped death?)

“Holy shit,” Summer says breathlessly, and _God,_ Ryan needs to get out of here. With shaky hands, he puts the car into park and gets out, stumbling across the road before sitting down clumsily on the grass. 

He can’t quite breathe right. His heart is still pounding, and he vaguely realizes he’s shaking. 

“Ryan?” says a voice behind him. He shuts his eyes tight as Summer sits down beside him. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Ryan just shakes his head; squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Hey,” says Summer softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay, Ryan.”

“Can’t _breathe,”_ he manages, clutching at his chest. _“Shit,_ I can’t—I don’t know what’s happening, I—”

“You’re freaking out,” Summer says. “Just breathe, Ryan. You’re okay, I promise.”

(But he’s _not)._

(He’s not okay).

(He’s _not fine)._

Mortifyingly, a sob tears its way through his chest, and he buries his face in his hands, trying in vain to preserve himself one last shred of dignity. 

“Ryan…” she says, and her voice is so soft, so sweet, so similar yet so different from that of the girl who tasted like honey. 

He can’t seem to form words; can’t seem to push them past the lump in his throat. Even if he could, he doesn’t know what he’d say. 

He lets another sob past his lips, and Summer looks at him with sympathy in her eyes. 

“Hey, c’mere,” she says, pulling him into a hug. 

Her arms feel nice around him, her touch soft and warm and all of a sudden _much_ too reminiscent of the girl who smelled like lavender. Ryan flinches, pulling away from her touch. “I can’t—” he manages. _“Shit,_ Summer, give me a _second,_ I—”

He turns away from her; lets sobs wrack his body until he’s got no more tears to shed, until he lurches forward and brings up the little he’d managed to eat for lunch that afternoon. 

Summer squeals from behind him and he winces. At least he missed her feet. 

“Sorry,” he mutters after a while, waiting for the nausea to pass before turning around to see Summer slightly closer to him than he’d thought she’d have been after she’d heard him retch. 

“You feel any better?” she asks quietly. 

Ryan shrugs.

“I miss her too,” Summer says, scooting towards Ryan again after she seems convinced he’s not going to hurl again. “It’s okay to be sad, Ryan.”

“I fucked up,” he says, voice hoarse. “She told me to pull over and I _didn’t.”_

“It wasn’t your fault,” Summer reminds him gently. “You did your best. You did what you could think to do. It was—It wasn’t your fault.”

Ryan shrugs; lets tears fill his eyes again. 

“I miss her,” he says. 

“I know,” says Summer. 

“I wish it was me,” he says. 

“I know,” she says. 

Silence stretches out between them. 

“Can I give you a hug?” Summer asks. 

Ryan nods. “Yeah,” he says, and she wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. He does the same, holding her as tight as he can. 

And she’s not Marissa. 

She doesn’t taste like honey, doesn’t smell like lavender. 

Because that girl is gone. 

And he’s not fine. 

But as he sits here, as he holds Summer and she holds him?

He can almost believe that someday, he might be. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please let me know if you see any!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated!


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